The Pleasure Cruise Mystery (6 page)

“Dick, it's all up!”

“You're not going to leave this cabin, Beryl!” came the stern rejoinder.

“Remember it's murder. Damn you, get out of my way!”

A brief silence ensued, and was broken by the sounds of a sharp struggle. For some moments the noise of scuffling continued. The cabin door slammed and all was silence. Vereker, now awake and somewhat alarmed, sprang from his bed. He was momentarily at a loss what to do. Should he go and inquire what was wrong and if he could be of any assistance? A moment's reflection made it clear that any interference on his part in the private quarrels of strangers might be reckoned by them as an unwarrantable impertinence. After all, it was not his affair, and the wisdom of minding his own business became more cogent as he stood in his pyjamas wondering what course to adopt in such an exigency. At that moment he heard the sharp rattle of something striking his cabin floor, and wondered what it might be. To his half wakened senses it sounded as if something had fallen from his dressing table—his keys, pocket knife or fountain pen—and he immediately turned round and made his way to that article of furniture. On examination he found that all his belongings, the usual articles that a man carries in his pockets and habitually turns out on a dressing table when retiring, were still where he had left them. He glanced at the floor beneath the table, but found it clear. He at once ceased to trouble about the matter; there was no accounting for the innumerable sounds to be heard in a ship's cabin at sea. A chilly mist was slowly filtering in at his window, which he had left half open, for he was almost fanatical on the subject of fresh air during sleep. He shivered slightly, pushed the window up with a quick thrust and drew the curtain across it. The action riveted his attention on the fact that he had ostensibly forgotten to draw that curtain earlier in the evening. Strange! He was almost positive he had done so immediately on entering his cabin. The slight breeze caused by the slow motion of the ship must have blown it back while he was dozing. Feeling cold he switched on the electric radiator, thrust his feet into bedroom slippers and pulled on his Jaeger dressing-gown. In a state of nervous agitation he fumbled in his pockets for his cigarette case and then, opening his wardrobe, extracted it from his dinner jacket. Having lit a cigarette he sat down on his bed and smoked as his mind flitted restlessly over the incidents of the night. That there was something unusual afoot between Mrs. Mesado and the Colvins was apparent, but again it was none of his business. The old inquisitive itch, the hunger of the detective to probe into a mystery, was now insistent, and out of the general lethargy in which he had lately been steeped sprang a sudden liveliness, a bright vivifying enthusiasm. He would find out all about it, burst through the tegument of mystery which shrouded the actions of these next-door neighbours of his on board the luxury liner “Mars.” To dismiss the subject from his mind and stand aloof disinterestedly was alien to his explorative mind, and as he pondered on the matter the boredom which he had already associated with the term “pleasure cruise” vanished, and he rose from his bed and began to pace his cabin floor with quick nervous steps, his hands thrust into the pockets of his dressing-gown, an eager light burning in his eyes. At last he had found something congenial to do. Rapidly he began to work out a plan of action. He would keep his ears alert and his eyes open. He would not rouse suspicion by any eagerness to ingratiate himself with these strangers, but gradually he would gather his information, piece it together patiently as a player assembles the components of a puzzle, and in the end he would have in his possession a solution of the problem. The end might not justify the labour and concentration he would have to bestow, but to Vereker the intricacies, the disappointments, the excitements of investigation were a sufficient incentive; they were the elements of the enthralling game of detection which he loved. And Manuel Ricardo was fortunately on board. He had made use of his friend on innumerable occasions in the past. Ricardo was invaluable in his way; he had a genius for friendship, for those cheerful and transient acquaintanceships in which so many people pass their time, and which Manuel called “the gentle art of living like sheep.” He was, moreover, a great favourite with the opposite sex and possessed an extraordinary power of eliciting confidences which, useless to himself, were frequently vital to Vereker's theories. He greatly admired his friend Vereker, and took a whole-hearted delight in assisting a man who he was convinced was one of the greatest amateur detectives in England.

“Yes,” thought Vereker, “Ricky will be indispensable; he always was a first-rate mixer, and on this occasion the circumstances will be peculiarly suited to his penchant for living like a millionaire. A costly stalking horse at times, but the game's worth it and one must always pay for one's hobbies…”

His reverie was at this point suddenly shattered by a sharp rapping on his cabin window, and kneeling with one knee on his bed Vereker swiftly drew aside the gaily coloured cretonne curtain which screened his cabin interior from the publicity of the deck and peered out. Looking from this brightly lit chamber into the outer gloom, he could only discern the vague silhouette of a head and shoulders. He switched off the light and looked again. Now he could see clearly that the head and shoulders belonged to Ricardo, and that Ricardo was beckoning him frantically to come out and join him. Vereker was seized with a swift spasm of annoyance. Was Ricky indulging in one of the idiotic pranks to which his mercurial temperament was addicted? He was not going to encourage him in any of his freakish practical jokes.

“Some tomfool game or other, I'll bet,” he exclaimed petulantly. “I'm not joining in at this godless hour!”

At that moment he heard the ship's bell strike four. It was four bells of the middle watch and two o'clock in the morning. He switched on his light once more and was about to draw the curtain of his cabin window when he noticed that Ricardo's short thick nose was flattened against the pane. His eyes were wide and startled, and his lips kept framing the words “Come out here, Algernon. Quick! Quick!”

Without further hesitation Vereker pulled on trousers, socks and shoes and, enveloping himself in an overcoat, quietly let himself out of his cabin. A few minutes later he was out on the starboard sweep of D deck and, glancing towards the stern, noticed in the half light that Ricardo was still standing outside the window of his cabin. He was bending down over some dark mass lying prone at his feet. On hearing his friend, Manuel stood erect and gesticulated wildly, urging haste and pointing to the object over which he was standing guard. In a flash Vereker saw that Ricardo was in no joking mood and at once hurried along the deck to his assistance.

“What's the matter, Ricky?” he asked breathlessly, and at the same moment realised that the mass lying at Ricardo's feet was the body of a woman. “Good Lord, who is it? Has she fainted?”

“It's Mrs. Mesado, Algernon,” replied Ricardo in a strained whisper, “and if I'm not mistaken she's dead. I can't rouse her.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Vereker and, stooping down, caught hold of the recumbent figure's hand. To his surprise it was encased in a chamois leather glove. Quickly pushing down the soft gauntlet of the glove, he laid his finger on her wrist. Delicate as was his sense of touch he could feel no throbbing of her pulse, and the flesh of the forearm was unpleasantly cold.

“By Jove, I'm afraid you're right, Ricky!” he said. “Run and get the ship's doctor while I stay here and keep an eye on things.”

“Where on earth does he hang out?” asked Ricardo.

“I don't know, but hunt up one of the night stewards and he'll dig him out. There's no time to lose!”

Ricardo promptly disappeared, and Vereker, pulling out a small pocket torch which he always carried on him, made a swift examination of the body. Mrs. Mesado was dressed in the pale blue georgette dress which she had worn at dinner the previous evening, and the fact reminded him that he had not seen her at dinner that night. Strange that he should have missed her, for he had been particularly anxious to get a good look at her. He at once observed that she was not wearing her valuable diamond necklace. Flashing his torch from one point to another, his sharp eye took in every detail of the figure as it lay in an ungainly sprawl on the deck. Again he experienced a sharp sense of surprise on noticing that Mrs. Mesado was wearing a pair of ordinary chamois leather gloves with her evening gown. This fact struck him as so unusual that, in spite of his ingrained scruples to leave the body untouched, he quickly removed the glove of the left hand in order to examine it, and in doing so found that the material of the glove stuck to the fingers. Flashing his torch on the bare hand he discovered that the flesh of all the knuckles was cut and bruised, and that the adhesion of the fingers to the leather of the glove had been caused by the blood that had flowed from the wounds and dried. A swift inspection of the right hand showed that it too was cut and bruised in a manner similar to the left. Before replacing the gloves on Mrs. Mesado's hands he noticed that the letters C. C. had been written in purple indelible pencil on the inside of the gauntlets.

“An interesting point,” he murmured, and as he replaced the right-hand glove Vereker began to whistle to himself a mournful little air from a forgotten Viennese opera, a sure indication that he was beginning to get excited. Then as he was about to slip on the left-hand glove he suddenly dropped it and switched the light of the torch on to that badly injured hand.

“More and more interesting!” he exclaimed as he saw on the index finger an emerald and ruby marquise ring, two of the stones of which were missing. Without further delay he pulled the glove on to the apparently lifeless hand and made another examination of the body. The extreme pallor of the face struck him as remarkable, and then his quick, restless glance settled for a moment on the high-heeled blue satin shoes that Mrs. Mesado was wearing. At once his hands caught hold of her feet and felt them all over with great care. The action imparted some recondite information which elicited a slight grunt of satisfaction, and, hearing footsteps approaching, Vereker straightened himself, extinguished his torch and thrust it into the pocket of his overcoat. Next moment three figures appeared from the door leading into the cabins situated on the starboard side of the upper promenade deck and hurried up to where Vereker stood beside Mrs. Mesado's body. As they came within the radius of light flung from the window of Vereker's cabin he saw that the men were Ricardo; the ship's doctor, Macpherson; and Fuller, one of the night stewards for the range of cabins on D deck. The doctor, without speaking a word, pressed the button of an electric lamp which he was carrying in his hand and flung a wide circle of light over the body lying on the deck. Thence he swung the lamp upwards and enveloped Vereker in its rays.

“Oh, it's you, Mr. Vereker,” he said, and added quietly, “I'll be glad if one of you gentlemen would give Fuller a hand to carry the lady back to her cabin. Mr. Ricardo has told me she's a Mrs. Mesado and her cabin is No. 89 on this deck.”

At once Vereker stooped and lifted the recumbent body by placing his hands under her arms. Fuller raised her lower limbs by embracing her round the knees, and the party made its way carefully along the deck.

“Not any more noise than you can help, gentlemen,” warned the doctor as they proceeded along the alleyway; “the less the other passengers know about this matter the better.”

A few minutes later they had entered Mrs. Mesado's cabin and deposited the body gently on the bed. The doctor then made a swift examination and grunted ominously.

“Is she dead, doctor?” asked Ricardo impatiently.

“I'm afraid so. Just passed away,” he replied without looking to see who had addressed the question.

For a brief period the four men stood in silence, and Doctor Macpherson, who was quietly reviewing the matter from a wider angle than the particular death of a human being, silently produced a loose cigarette from one of his pockets and lit it. Turning slowly to Fuller he asked:

“Is Mrs. Mesado travelling alone, or has she her husband or friends on board?”

“She has her maid with her, sir—a Miss Gautier—and Mr. and Mrs. Colvin, in the next suite of cabins, are relatives if I'm not mistaken.”

“Mrs. Colvin is Mrs. Mesado's sister, I believe,” added Ricardo.

“Oh, that so!” commented the doctor, and after a pause, “You might tell Mr. and Mrs. Colvin to come here quietly, Fuller. Never mind the maid for the present. Tell the Colvins that Mrs. Mesado has taken suddenly ill and that I'd like to see them as soon as possible.”

Fuller departed and Doctor Macpherson, puffing unconcernedly at his cigarette, turned to Vereker and Ricardo.

“Thank you very much, gentlemen, for your assistance and the trouble you've taken. I won't detain you any longer; I'm sure you must be tired. Captain Partridge may want to see you to-morrow. If so he'll send for you. In the meantime I must ask you as a great favour not to let this matter go beyond yourselves. I'm sure you'll see the necessity for keeping the other passengers in the dark. The matter doesn't concern them, and a sudden death isn't a particularly happy occurrence at the beginning of a pleasure cruise. May I rely on you?”

“Certainly, doctor,” replied Vereker and Ricardo together.

“Thanks very much,” replied the doctor, and, wishing him good night, Vereker and Ricardo left Mrs. Mesado's cabin and returned along the alleyway to Vereker's quarters.

The pontifical manner leeches assume always gets my goat,” remarked Ricardo with heat as soon as Vereker and he were alone in the latter's cabin. “I suppose Hippocrates started the stunt to cover his deficiencies, and his disciples have made it part of the ritual of medicine ever since.”